


If You'd Only Asked Me

by JudgeCoffee



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Depression, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, Post-Game, Relapsing, Rimming, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, sad boner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22514626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JudgeCoffee/pseuds/JudgeCoffee
Summary: Harry has never handled love very well. And loving someone who will never love him back? Well, that's his area of expertise when it comes to self-destructive behavior...
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi, Harry Du Bois/Smoker on the Balcony
Comments: 52
Kudos: 178





	If You'd Only Asked Me

_ Harry you’re really in it now _ .

He was. Balls deep.

_ Literally _ .

It wasn’t that he was off the wagon again ( _ you are, Harry _ ), it was that he wasn’t entirely certain how he had gotten back to the little Capeside apartments across from the Whirling-In-Rags. He didn’t even know he’d still had the keys for the door. It seemed like a weird thing for him to have kept ( _ you know why, Harry _ .) He wasn’t even how he had come back to Martinaise. He couldn’t have walked. He hoped after the last time, he’d had the good sense not to drive.

_ But then, you’ve never had any good sense when you’re drunk, have you Harry? _

Never.

_ Instead, here you are. Can you smell it, Harry? Perfume, and sweat and cum… Is it yours? _

Not his perfume, he was pretty sure. Everything else, though?

“Oh, gendarme…”

And  _ there  _ was the reason he was back in Martinaise, a place where he knew he should absolutely  _ not _ be showing his face. Not when he’d fucked over Evart on his deal, and there was a war just waiting to burst out. ( _ Maybe you came to warn him, Harry? You ever think of that? _ )

He had certainly not come to warn the man ( _ beautiful man, smoking on the balcony, looking down at you with his sweet perfume wafting through the air – his cigarette between his lips, just like the only anchor you have in the world _ ) about the rising threat of war, because everyone knew that was coming. No, Harry couldn’t fake good intentions. He was well aware of what he’d come there for, and he also knew, somewhat less gratifyingly, why.

From his position on the bed, he could see wine glasses on the side table – both empty with small red streaks over the rim. Cheap, shitty, and overly sweet – he remembered buying it from the girl at Fritte’s who had swapped out for someone younger and fresher since the last time he’d been there. ( _ For the best. No one should stay in Martinaise for long. Not safe here, is it Harry? _ )

He recalled ( _ Oh no. _ ) trying to decide as he stood on the balcony how he should position himself. How to look devastatingly cool, which was a hell of a lot easier three months sober ( _ Not anymore, Harry) _ than it was after years of drinking had him on the brink of a heart attack with his liver falling out his asshole and sweat pouring down his face from the strain of getting through the fucking day. He was wearing a clean shirt, no pit stains or sour BO spoiling it now that he’d gotten his life together ( _ Or you had gotten it together, Harry, before you started doing shots of tequila to make yourself forget. Again. You wish you could have that do-over one more time, don’t you? _ ), but that nice clean shirt was now flung to the floor of his new problem’s apartment.

Harry recalled knocking with his bruised knuckles ( _ How did you bruise them, Harry? Did you get in a bar fight? _ ), and he recalled the smoker on the balcony opening the door for him. Harry’s smoker hadn’t been smoking just then, and he didn’t look quite as good as he had three months earlier ( _ Before shit really started to get hot, no thanks to you _ ), but the man was still handsome as fuck, with his brown hair tousled and his delicate features unblemished. Just dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping well ( _ Something you can relate to, Harry _ ), but he still smiled when he saw who it was.

“Come to return my bathrobe, gendarme?” he’d asked, his eyes traveling down Harry’s chest to his hands - and more specifically, to the cheap shitty wine bottle he’d been clutching. “Or…?”

“I’d have called, but I didn’t have your number,” Harry’d said, holding up the bottle as a peace offering. “And I’d have brought the robe, but it still smells a bit like you.”

The man laughed, reaching out and taking the bottle. “You’ve been drinking.” Not so much an accusation, just an observation.

_ Just like _ …

He had to stop thinking about where the problem  _ started  _ and focus on the problem at hand.  _ (Literally in your hand, Harry _ .)

“Yeah, but I remembered it wasn’t Sunday. So, I thought you might want…” He’d paused then, unsure what a man like the smoker whose name he’d never actually learned, would or could possibly want to do with him. Except for the obvious thing, but that was more a ‘thinking with your dick’ situation than something realistic.

But five shots of tequila after three months of sobriety went a long way to removing the obstacle of being too afraid to ask.

He’d taken a pill too. Someone had handed to him, but he couldn’t have said who it was. Sometime after the tequila, but before the bruised knuckles. And that had given him a brilliant ( _ Oh, Harry. _ ) idea.

“A Friday night friend?” the man asked, leaning against the doorway and reaching out, his manicured fingers sliding over Harry’s rough ones, sealing themselves around the neck of the wine bottle.

The touch itself was electric. The smooth, soft touch against the calluses of his fingers made Harry want to grab him. Hold him against the door. Ravish him with kisses and grind into him until neither of them could breathe and-

And the man had the good sense to slide the bottle out of Harry’s hand, and beckon him inside. “Well, I would never turn away a wayward soul who brings a sacrifice for my artistic altar. Get the door and take off your shoes.”

Harry did, while the smoker vanished into the kitchen. He couldn’t keep himself from shaking, or from licking his lips, as he glanced around the room, which was virtually unchanged since the last time he had been there.

He took off his coat along with his shoes, just to be… what? Polite? ( _ That doesn’t sound like you, Harry. But I suppose the least you can do at a late night booty call is not mess up his floors _ .)

_ This is not a booty call. _

_ (Harry, this is absolutely a booty call.) _

Then his smoker emerged from the kitchen with two full wine glasses, wearing a blue silk bathrobe and nothing else that Harry could discern over his lithe feline body. He looked like he ought to be in some fashion magazine, looking like that, with the robe gaping open over his chest and his hair just… so. ( _ Booty call. _ )

Harry’s breath caught in his throat and he’d licked his lips, still dry, walking into the small room to meet his new… his Friday friend? ( _ Or are you  _ his  _ Friday friend now, Harry? After all, it couldn’t hurt to have a friend in the RCM these days. Even a shitty friend like you _ .)

“Blue is your color,” Harry said, reaching out and taking the silk belt of the robe between his fingers as his Friday friend approached, feeling the flimsy fabric. It would be so easy to tear it off. “I’m sorry I took it from you. I’ll pay you back.”

“You did bring me wine, and right when I was fresh out,” his Friday friend said, drinking from his glass and handing Harry the other. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Did you want to?” ( _ Overly hopeful, Harry. _ )

“I didn’t think about you much at all.” The other man shrugged, sipping at his wine again, not commenting outside of that. “Did you finally sort yourself out?”

“Sort of. More or less,” Harry said, downing his own glass in one go. He lightly tugged on the silk belt so that the hastily tied knot came easily undone. ( _ So much easier than you expected, Harry. _ )

And Dolores Dei would have to smite him herself to keep Harry from looking at his Friday Friend’s nakedness. Harry had tried  _ (Oh Harry, you have  _ tried _.) _ to not think about men since his whole  _ episode _ . His smoker on the balcony, whose name he still didn’t know, had been the start of things. Maybe it was just that his obsession with  _ her _ for so many years that his psyche had never considered any alternatives before. And now that he was free ( _ Except in your dreams, Harry. She’ll never let you go in your dreams. _ ) of his anchor to the past, he had neatly tied himself to a new obsession in the present. He still looked at women, he still  _ liked _ women. The way they moved, the way they laughed, the way they did their hair, the way they wore their clothes… Maybe it was just that the Smoker had so many things in common with them that Harry had gotten a little… confused. In his damaged state.

_ Oh, you would love to think that, wouldn’t you Harry? But you’re a detective. You love to trace your little clues and follow your little patterns. So, how about you be a little more honest with yourself about this particular meltdown. _

This particular meltdown started with Kim Kitsuragi. The part where he couldn’t stop thinking about Kim Kitsuragi. And ultimately that Harry desperately wanted to be in the same room as Kim Kitsuragi, looking at  _ his _ naked body, instead of the person he had right in front of him – who didn’t really look anything  _ like _ Kim Kitsuragi.

They only had three things in common. They’d both been kind to him while he’d been having a nervous breakdown, they both looked  _ devastatingly _ cool while smoking on balconies, and they held the tenuous position of being the only two members of the Homosexual Underground the Harry knew.

Well, and Ruby, but who the fuck knew what happened to her? And she was the opposite of him. ( _ Well, not quite the opposite, Harry. Halfway to opposite. Meet you in the middle. You both like a nice pair of tits. That’s always a good starting point. _ )

Harry could even nail down the exact moment his present meltdown had started, ( _ nice course correction, Harry. _ ) with him and Kim standing on the balcony of Kim’s apartment, talking about their new case. The case itself wasn’t terribly interesting ( _ THE WOMAN WITH NO FACE _ ), and they’d gone over their list of interviewees, their evidence from the field autopsy, when Kim had said ( _ Frankly, unfairly, getting you out of the blue like this Harry. A man needs some warning for something like this) _ , “Do you still have that Wirrâl game you bought? And all those dice?”

“Oh, uh…” ( _ Would it be cool to say yes?) (Probably, he’s asking about it) _ , “Yeah, back at my place. Why, do you want to play it?” ( _ He’s so cool. Do you think he wants to play with you, Harry _ ?)

Kim looked out into the night, inhaling his cigarette smoke and breathing out. He tapped it lightly against his ashtray, looking out at the city below them, the wind lightly ruffling his jacket as small droplets of rain started to fall around them. They didn’t go inside.

“It is not so much that I want to play it, more so I… know someone who is interested in playing it. So, I would like to borrow it,” Kim said, taking the cigarette between his lips. ( _ Try not to focus on sucking on his fingers, Harry. Try not to think about your tongue against his lips, tasting his cigarette. Not about his hands on your cock, or about inhaling his scent right from his mouth. _ )

Except he’d been thinking about it every day for the three months he’d known Kim. The  _ problem _ was that he’d think about it in the shower, with his thumb up his ass and his hand on his dick, grunting like a boar in heat as he rocked his hips and thought about what it might be like to be balls deep in Kim. Or have Kim balls deep in him. He didn’t really have a preference. Or maybe he did, and he’d just forgotten.

What would it be like to have Kim’s dick in his mouth? He’d tried it on himself, but he really just wasn’t flexible enough to make that happen. He’d briefly tried putting a banana as far back in his throat as he could make it go, but it barely got past his molars before he’d made himself sick.

But he still thought about it. So, he tried again. He’d tried again just that morning. And he needed to pick up more bananas.

Then. Kim said.  _ That _ .

“Oh… like, doing a board game night or something? With friends?” Harry asked, making himself smile as his heart started to pick up speed and he felt himself starting to sweat. He smoothed his hand over his thigh, fighting to keep it from jittering. Wondering if he could just launch himself over the side of the balcony right then and there. He was four stories up. It would probably kill him, especially if he landed on his head. Splatter his brains on the sidewalk. Launch his spinal cord though his pelvis. Shatter his shoulderblades. Snap his neck.

Maybe just paralyze himself. Then he’d be a real asshole. ( _ But it would honestly be better than hearing the next part. You don’t want to hear the next part, Harry. How can you stop him from talking? _ )

He couldn’t. He’d asked the question already.

“No, it’s more of a… date,” Kim said, tapping his slim fingers against the ashtray again, the light catching his glasses so that Harry couldn’t read his expression. He couldn’t even get a read on Kim’s tone of voice.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, his fingernails catching and digging into his scalp. The word stabbed into his chest and he couldn’t breath.  _ Date _ . And it would be a date with a man. A man nothing like Harry. Probably someone a little younger. Someone a little more together. Someone who wasn’t a motherfucking recovering alcoholic.

When he’d tried to answer, he couldn’t even make himself speak. Couldn’t find the words. ( _ “No. Please. Don’t. _ ”) Instead what came out was. “Yeah, sure, man. No problem. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

“You’re off tomorrow, Detective. That’s why we’re having this meeting tonight.” Kim said, the cigarette between his lips again. His lips that would be on someone else’s. Someone Harry didn’t know. On someone else’s dick. It would have been so much easier if it were a woman, because then Harry would at least know he couldn’t compete. ( _ You have nice tits too, Harry. You could compete. Not giving yourself enough credit _ .)

“Right. Yeah. Of course. That’s… why I’m here. Monday. I’ll bring it over on Monday,” Harry said, straightening up, turning around, and heading for the door.

“Detective…? We still have-” Kim said, gesturing towards his notebook, and then back into his apartment where he’d been making dinner. ( _ In the stove. Casserole. Kim’s a pretty good cook, it’ll be a shame to miss outI.) _

“Oh, uh… don’t worry about it. I have a thing,” Harry said, and then he’d walked out the door. 

Kim didn’t stop him.

And he’d had three shots of tequila. And he’d punched through a bathroom door at the bar ( _ Almost forgot about that bit, didn’t you Harry? _ ). And then he’d taken some pills from a very nice young lady in line for the lady’s room. Then they’d danced. Then he’d had two more shots of tequila and been thrown out of the bar for the hole he’d left in the bathroom door.

And then he’d walked to Martinaise, and suddenly it was 3am, and he’d stood in the doorway of a man whose name he didn’t know, leveraging sex. And he’d gotten it. Standing there holding the silk belt, staring at the naked body of the closest person he could get to what he wanted. The skinny art student, whose ribs Harry could see under his pale visage, with his dark nipples and his soft cock, dangling between his legs.

Harry had seen a lot of cocks in the past three months, not counting his own, but they’d mainly belonged to dead people. Exclusively. To dead people. But he had an imagination, and he’d thought about what Kim’s cock might look like. Big? Small? Long? Short? Skinny? Thick?

His Friday friend’s dick was almost as skinny as he was, and Harry couldn’t stop looking at it. His cock, his skinny hip bones, his hairless body, and the little goose bumps that raised on his skin. He raised his glass to his lips, taking a long drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with each gulp. And when he pulled the glass away, a small trail of red dripped down his chin onto his chest. ( _ So much like blood, Harry. But twice as tasty _ .)

Harry didn’t wait for an invitation, setting his wine glass aside and leaning into his Friday Friend, putting his tongue against the soft skin of his chest ( _ how long has it actually been, Harry? Before your three months sober, did you touch anyone? Or did you hold vigil in desperate hope that Dora would come back to you? Has it been six years, Harry? Or have you fucked your way through any woman who would have you, and maybe the men too? _ ), and the chest, that  _ chest _ was so smooth and the sweet wine mingled perfectly with the faint taste of body lotion.

Whatever the girl at the club had given him kicked him straight in the balls like an adrenaline shot just then, and he pushed his new friend up against the wall, meeting no resistance. Not that the other man could have resisted. Harry had been getting back in shape ( _ you’ve been working really hard, Harry. Have you seen your biceps? You look  _ really _ good. _ ), and even if he was still getting on in his years, he’d been strong once. Or maybe he always had been. And it occurred to him that he might look frightening like he was now. Drunk. Probably high. Showing up at 3am. ( _ It doesn’t matter, Harry. He would have turned you away at the door if he didn’t want you here. _ ) ( _ Just show him your appreciation. You’ve been practicing, haven’t you _ ?)

And almost like Harry had asked him to, his Friday friend started to let the robe slip down his arms, showing his shoulders, his skinny arms, his fragile frame – and Harry held up his hand, shaking his head. “Leave it on. I like it.”

His friend smiled, pulling it back up, his dick a little harder now that Harry had kissed his chest. Pushed him. Showed some hunger. And in Harry’s gut, he could feel the tug. The strain against his pants. The feral hunger for someone who wasn’t there – but the next best thing would do fine. ( _ Oh, you’ve absolutely done this before, Harry. _ )

Harry stepped forward again, taking his friend’s delicate wrists and lifting them above his head. He leaned in, kissing him on the lips this time. Just for a moment. Just to taste his cigarette, and his cheap wine. And he kissed back, opening his mouth and pressing into Harry’s, his naked skin pressing against the soft cotton of Harry’s shirt.

_ The cigarette is the wrong brand. It’s not Kim’s _ .

Harry pulled his lips away, moving instead to his Friday friend’s neck, smelling him and hoping the distance would fill in the gap in a different way. That his tongue on the pale skin would help him forget who else he wanted. And when it didn’t, he sunk his teeth in, and heard the other man gasp, felt his chest press up against him, and his hard dick grinding up against Harry’s straining groin, his bony hips digging against Harry’s, contorting like some lithe feral cat. And oh, he made noises when Harry sucked on his neck. Soft moans and little cries that coaxed him to continue, one bare leg lifting to his hip and wrapping around him.

_ Except the voice isn’t  _ his  _ voice. Do you think he’d say anything at all, Harry? Or is he as tightly controlled in bed as he is everywhere else _ ?

Harry desperately wished he could make all the little voices in his head shut the fuck up. But they didn’t. And instead of listening, he moved down further, running his tongue down his friend’s collar bone, and then down his chest, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking as hard as he could, while his hands moved to the wall on either side so that he could brace himself.

The nipple against his tongue, hard and perky, made him think of Dora. He didn’t always remember much about her, but he did remember sex sometimes – mostly in dreams. Mostly he remembered sucking on her breast, or on her clit, making her squirm just like his Friday friend was doing now. He pressed his tongue over the nipple in his mouth, then bit down again, a little more lightly this time. He didn’t want to hurt his new friend. He needed him.

“ _ Harder _ ,” his friend said, a little breathless, his hands moving and tangling in Harry’s hair. ( _ Your hair isn’t even greasy anymore, Harry. It’s real nice. I bet he appreciates that. _ )

Harry bit down, making his friend cry out, his leg hiking up higher, his bony pelvis practically ramming into Harry’s gut. It made Harry’s head spin, the erection digging into the soft flesh of his stomach. ( _ That’s it, Harry boy. I bet you could go all night. What did that girl  _ give _ you? You should get more _ !)

“Gendarme!” his friend cried out, his breath hitched, but Harry didn’t want to stay. He needed more. He needed something different. Some other way to show that he was grateful he hadn’t been thrown out on his ass again.

Abandoned. Again.

Harry went lower, alternating between licking and nipping his way down his friend’s chest, to the end of his ribcage and heaving stomach as he breathed in, his abdomen tightening when Harry’s fingers took his hips, and Harry’s knees hit the floor ( _ little rough there on your legs, Harry. You’re not a young man anymore _ .). He dug his fingers into his friend’s hips, and he felt the other man’s soft hands on his shoulders, trying to keep himself upright. The whole movement sent a momentary wave of pain through him – his gunshot wound mostly healed, but not quite yet. He let out a grunt of pain, and his friend pulled back his hands, panting hard.

“The bed… better idea right now, maybe?” he suggested, which nearly pulled Harry out of the moment completely.

_ You’re not ready to be pulled out of the moment yet, are you Harry? Show him who the fucking boss is around here. _

He’d fucking show him.

Harry moved his arm under his Friday Friend’s leg, bracing his back with the other arm and lifting him off the floor. It made his head spin ( _ too much tequila and wine, Harry.) _ , but his friend laughed, joyous and impressed as Harry stumbled with him over to the bed and dropped him onto the soft fabric. His friend laid out there, his legs spread and his cock laying hard against his stomach, framed by his blue silk robe, almost offering an illusion of modesty.

Harry reached up and undid his tie, tossing it aside before going to work on his shirt. His friend watched, reaching down and touching his cock with one hand, his slender hands stroking from base to tip, letting it grow with the subtle movement. With his other hand he was exploring his bedside table, looking for something, but Harry didn’t pay any mind, finally getting his buttons undone and tossing his shirt aside.

He was so hard in his pants that he could see the wet spot starting to form on the front of his crotch, matching the slick precum smeared on his friend’s robe. It was hard to ignore now that he was absolutely not about to fuck a skinny woman.

_ You’ve been obsessing about your sexuality for three months now, Harry. Maybe longer. Time to face facts; the only thing that’s got your goat is that it’s not the person you want it to be. He doesn’t want you any more than Dora does. Less, because he never wanted you to begin with. Not the way you want him _ .

Harry tried to shove those voices to the back of his mind, kneeling again at the side of the bed. He grabbed one of his friend’s ankles, pulling him closer so that he could kiss the underside of his thigh. Lick the sweat there, drawing closer to his groin. Ever closer to his cock. Ever closer to the most approximate thing he could get to what ( _ who _ ) he wanted.

“Ah…” His friend moaned softly, laughing again. “Your beard tickles, gendarme.”

That actually made Harry smile. Weirdly… sweet. Even if sweet wasn’t what he really wanted, it made him want to do better ( _ give him a wild ride, Harry) _ . He pulled his friend down the bed, closer to him so that his bare ass practically hung off the edge, which was what Harry wanted. He leaned his head against his friend’s thigh, running his tongue closer to the… ( _ the cock, Harry. It’s a cock. You have one. He has one.) _

_ Kim has one. _

“Everything alright-?” his friend started, but Harry couldn’t have that. ( _ Don’t let him think it’s your first time, Harry. _ ) ( _ Even if it is. _ ) ( _ Or is it?) _

So in lieu of  _ that _ tragedy, Harry went for it. Just straight for it. He took his friend’s erection in his hand and dipping his head down – not to touch his shaft, but to take his balls in his mouth. Harry didn’t know why, it was lower than he had planned to go ( _ it’s because  _ she _ used to do this to you, and you liked it, whether you want to admit it or not, Harry _ ), but once the warm skin was in his mouth it was just like any other part of a person. With the right amount of tongue, everything felt good, especially in such a sensitive place, and his friend moaned softly in appreciation above him, twisting in his thin silk robe.

His friend didn’t have a whole lot of pubic hair. Harry wondered if Kim did. What he really looked like, naked and exposed. Vulnerable. Untouchable. ( _ Would Kim like this? You playing with his balls? _ )

He reached up, stroking his friend’s cock and trying not to think about Kim’s dick, but it didn’t help. Every stroke of the shaft, even his thumb against the other man’s head, circling around - all of it made him think of the person he specifically didn’t want to be thinking about.

_ Would Kim squirm? He’s always so calm. So collected. So unbearably cool. Could you make him scream, Harry? Or would he just smile at you? Tell you what a good job you’re doing - which is all you fucking want _ .

If Harry could have, he would have grabbed every single little voice in his head and strangled them, but since that wasn’t an option and he’d decided against blowing his brains out ( _ for now, Harry, you have your gun back now, it’s ready to go whenever you are _ ), he opted to drag his tongue between his Friday Friend’s balls and tease his taint instead. He’d always had good hand-eye coordination, or in this case good hand-mouth coordination, which meant he could still move his thumb in smooth circles around his friend’s crown, smearing his precum over his tip. He loved the sound his friend made when he did that, and Harry fucking inhaled the other man’s smell, realizing with a small jump that whatever that perfume was, his friend used it in the crease of his hips as well. He smelled good  _ everywhere _ .

“Oh,  _ fuck _ …” his friend moaned, his legs open as his hips rolled up, giving Harry room to work as he moved further down. Further down to the pink hole that even in the back of his mind he knew Dora had enjoyed.

Harry didn’t ask for permission - he didn’t need to, not with his friend’s hips canting upwards and one leg draping over his shoulder. Instead, he dropped his hands down, digging them into his friend’s soft skinny ass to pry his cheeks apart, really pushing in so that he’d feel it. He wanted this shit to be  _ memorable. _ ( _ Oh, he’s not about to forget tonight Harry. Sloppy drunks don’t just show up and stick their tongue up your ass every night. And you’d know. _ )

He flattened his tongue against the hole, feeling his friend’s muscles contract around him, but it didn’t stop him. He wasn’t even sure he was tasting anything anymore, too much booze, and too much of whatever drug was pumping through him telling him one thing and one thing only: this was going to be a Hell of a night. He dug his thumbs in, keeping his friend’s cheeks spread, burying his nose in his friend’s taint, and Harry fucked his tongue into the asshole in front of him. He probably could have gone a little slower, but every synapse in his brain fired up and told him to go  _ hard _ instead ( _ fuck him harder, Harry. How many people will turn down a good rimjob these days?) _ .

“ _ Fuck _ , yes! Harder!” was all the encouragement that Harry needed anyway, darting his tongue in and out, coating the tight hole in his saliva while his own cock ached inside his pants. ( _ Touch yourself, Harry _ .) Except he couldn’t without moving his hands, and he didn’t want to move his hands anywhere except closer to his goal. Inside.

He felt his hair gripped harder now, his face pressed up against his friend’s ass, his thumb moving steadily closer to what he wanted. But his friend was frail, delicate, and he couldn’t make Harry do anything he didn’t want to. And with his tongue stretching out the hole he was practically eating ( _ sucking, fucking, how deep inside him can you get Harry? _ ) he was sure that he couldn’t be too far away from the home stretch. His friend’s ragged breathing was starting to give him away.

Harry pulled his tongue out, licking his swollen lips and kissing his friend’s other thigh, then biting him and making him squirm and moan on the bed. ( _ That’ll bruise. _ )

“Wanna fuck you,” was the pickup line that he wound up saying, which didn’t sound great, but it did earn him a condom thrown in his general direction – probably what his Friday friend had been reaching for when Harry had dumped him on the bed. ( _ Who the fuck needs a condom, Harry? Take him raw. That’s what he really wants. _ )

It was probably not what he wanted.

“Lay down,” his friend said, rolling over and reaching between his legs, his fingers slick with some kind of gel. He panted, his pale cheeks pink and his precum smearing the bed when he moved. When Harry just stood there with his pants still on, his friend nodded beside him. “On the bed, lay down. You got shot, gendarme.”

Harry did as he was told, for once, undoing his stained pants and kicking them aside, pulling down his shitty stained briefs and laying down on the bed. It wasn’t especially soft, and when he looked up, he could see that canopy that he’d always liked ( _ you forgot to ask him where he got it. It’s a nice canopy. Maybe he made it? _ ). It was probably good that he was laying down. It took moving into a comfortable position for him to realize how much his thigh was still killing him – no matter how much tequila he’d shotgunned into his system.

_ You’ve got a job to do, Harry _ .

As though he could have forgotten, as he tore open the condom wrapper. His finger sliced itself on the cheap shitty plastic, but he didn’t let himself get distracted again. He had a nice dick, he knew that. Was thick. Maybe harrier ( _ ha, ha _ ) than his Friday friend was used to ( _ I don’t know, Harry. You met his Sunday friend. He was softer than you are. From his nice cushy office job across the sea _ ), but Harry still slid the snug condom over his girth, massaging himself a little as he did. Rather than helping him relax, it just fired him up all over again. He felt sticky inside the latex, and he wanted to rip it off the moment he had it on, but he could be a gentleman. ( _ A little bit desperate, aren’t you _ ?)

His friend didn’t give him a whole lot of time to think about it though, moving to straddle him, his back to Harry as he positioned himself over his erection. The silk spilled over Harry’s chest like a strip-tease barrier, and he couldn’t really see what his friend was doing, just heard him hum and saw the profile of a smile when he looked over his shoulder at Harry. “If I’d known that was what you were packing I would have invited you over ages ago.”

_ What a nice thing to say. _

Harry inhaled sharply when his friend lowered down, feeling the hole where he’d so recently placed his tongue close around the head of his cock. It was a fight to will himself to relax, and he certainly couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and putting his hands on his friend’s bony hips.

And for a second, just a second, when he closed his eyes, it was Kim straddling him. Kim lowering himself down, rocking himself over the crown of Harry’s cock, and sliding slick – maybe gaping a little – onto him like a tight funnel. And it was so fucking  _ tight _ that Harry almost forgot to breathe completely. He could feel all the muscles inside Kim ( _ not Kim _ ) starting to relax and adjust to Harry’s girth.

With his eyes closed, Kim started to rock against him, moving down, letting Harry in deeper and deeper until he could feel their balls touch. ( _ All the way in now, Harry. Balls deep. Just like you wanted _ .) His fingers sunk into Kim’s hips, even as Harry felt him starting to move up again. It took everything Harry had not to grind him back down against his cock, but Kim knew what he was doing. He breathed heavily as he moved up and down, thrusting against Harry’s body, the sweat of his ass sliding against Harry’s gut. Perfectly balanced against him. Vacuum sealed onto the condom that separated them.

“Kim…” He caught himself moaning, his fingers gripping against the skin of his partner’s hips so tightly that he was sure it would bruise. He didn’t care. He wanted Kim to feel him in the morning. Harry started to rock upwards, catching his partner by surprise, making him lose balance a little and slide back, but he moaned in pleasure all the same.

“Oh, fuck, gendarme,  _ yes _ ,” ( _ and now you’re back, Harry _ ) his friend moaned, practically sitting on Harry’s lap as he started to fuck against him with all the force his hips could muster. Harry didn’t hold back, not as the realization struck him. ( _ Not Kim. That’s the whole reason you’re here, Harry _ .)

He slammed up, balls deep, the smell of perfume, sweat, and cum overwhelming him. He shifted his angle, seeing that his friend was balancing on one hand, with the other on his own cock, bringing himself to completion. Impaled on Harry’s dick, taking it as Harry hit him at whatever angle it was that Harry knew from experience would make a man blind ( _ So, Dora might have stuck her thumb up your ass once or twice, Harry.  _ That’s  _ not what made you horny for dick _ ). He lifted from his hips, bucking them up when his friend came down, nearly lifting him off the damn bed with the force of it. And  _ fuck _ it felt good, like doing an overhead press at peak performance - when all the adreneline rushed through him, and everyone saw what a power house he could really be. The fucking  _ man _ he could really be.

_ And fucking right it’s enough to make him cum. _

It wasn’t quite enough to bring Harry over the edge, but watching his new friend spill himself all over the bed between Harry’s legs gave him a hell of a rush ( _ not that you can get a google angle, Harry. He’s not looking at your face any more than you’re looking at his _ .). But then his Friday friend slid off his cock when Harry’s hips fell back down, bringing the condom with him, trapped inside his tight hole, and the sudden pressure release off of Harry’s cock brought him right where he needed to go. Right to what he wanted. ( _ Absence. _ )

That was when Harry shot his load all over the back of his friend’s shitty silk robe, his hips jerking and shaking as his back arched off the bed. The release was everything he’d wanted. And his eyes were wet, his mouth was dry, and even as everything skewed out of focus so he could pretend just for one  _ fucking _ second that he was actually where he wanted to be, and he called out the wrong ( _ right _ .) name. “ _ Fuck _ , KIM.”

Except it wasn’t Kim. It never  _ would _ be Kim.

And when he sank back, dry, on the sweaty wet sheets, they weren’t Kim’s sheets. He’d never seen Kim’s sheets. And he never would.

_ Harry you’re really in it now _ .

Balls. Deep.

He covered his eyes with the back of his arm, closing them and feeling the wetness against his skin. Tears. ( _ Don’t cry. Don’t you fucking cry. _ )

Too. Fucking. Late.

Harry took a breath to steady himself, back in the moment, where he’d absolutely fucked up. Where he’d thrown three months of sobriety down the drain, and fucked a complete ( _ well, not  _ complete) stranger because he had the maturity of a twelve year old. And he couldn’t stop himself from crying. Couldn’t fight the tears that leaked out onto his cheeks, or the snot from coming out his nose. Couldn’t stop the sobs of a total fuckup from making their way out.

He felt his Friday friend move up beside him, felt skin on skin contact when an arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him in. “Shh, don’t worry about it,” he whispered, using his sleeve to wipe Harry’s face.

Somehow, that only made it worse. He knew that he wasn’t the first drunk asshole with a gun who wandered in off the street at three am for a quick fuck with his Friday friend. He knew in his gut that some other pathetic middle-aged asshole had wound up in the same room, in the same bed, and his Friday friend had seen it all before, and it probably wouldn’t be for the last time. ( _ Pathetic. You haven’t changed at all, Harry. And you’re no different from any of the other sick, sad assholes out there who’ve used him to make themselves feel better. _ )

“N-No. It’s fine.  _ I’m _ fine.” He was Harry  _ fucking  _ du Bois. He’d been through hell and he was still there. ( _ That’s the spirit, Harry. Don’t get so down on yourself. You’ve had a rough few years. He gets that. _ ) “Sorry, I didn’t… I just… don’t know your name. Is all.”

“Mhm, you probably shouldn’t. It’s better for both of us that way,” his Friday friend said, shrugging and laying his head against Harry’s shoulder. “I don’t know yours either.”

“It’s-”

“Shh, you can just be my Friday friend,” Harry’s Friday friend said, dapping Harry’s eyes with his robe. Cleaning him up like he was a child, and not the fully grown idiot adult. And he couldn’t stop. It got fucking  _ worse _ .

“I don’t…” Harry trailed off, staring at the ceiling, sniffing back snot and trying to wipe his eyes with his hand and trying to get it off his skin. “I don’t want to be this kind of asshole. I thought I wasn’t anymore.”

“Oh dear, come now. You don’t un-become an asshole overnight,” his Friend, his beautiful smoker on the balcony, said, draping himself around Harry like a cat, sliding over his chest and dabbing his face. “Let’s not make this into something it’s not.”

Harry reached up and brushed back his friend’s hair, then laid his arm aside, offering a place for him to lay his head. ( _ Of course you’re just another Friday night here, Harry. Nothing special. Nothing earth shaking here. He might not even remember you were here tomorrow. _ ) He bit back his feelings, sniffing and taking a deep breath, hoping he could clear his mind. He couldn’t. “No I… guess not. I just hoped I could be a better friend.”

_ Not the kind of friend who throws three months of sobriety out the window because his partner might suck someone else’s dick. _

And the thought of Kim sucking someone else’s dick  _ burned _ in him. Tore at his chest and deep in his guts where all his thoughts about Dora lived, waiting to resurface in his dreams and claw their way out of his stomach. Waited to eat his insides and wring out his heart until it was a desiccated husk.

He just wanted Kim to give him that little smile. And be proud of him.

“Mhm… well,” his friend lifted his head and kissed Harry’s cheek, stroking his hair fondly, “you still won’t be my  _ worst  _ friend. You brought wine.”

“I could… try and be a better friend,” Harry posited, ( _ this is a terrible idea, Harry. _ ) ( _ this is a  _ wonderful  _ idea, Harry _ .) wiping his tears off his bloated face and onto the bed. “You could come to Jamrock. Away from all… this.” He waved his hand vaguely. “I could… look after you.”

HIs friend raised an eyebrow. “Gendarme… your heart is in the right place, but I think you’re better off taking care of yourself. If you really want to be less of an asshole. Maybe shift your focus to that, not to me.”

Harry stared at the window, resting his head on his friend’s pillow. He watched the snow fall, and slowly change to rain. Far away Kim looked at the same slush from his bedroom, laying awake and worrying - trying to pin down the exact moment he had lost his partner. What he could have said differently, to avoid the shit-show fast approaching him on the coming Monday. To call over the weekend? To wait? Calling too early ran the risk of making things worse. Leaving Harry to his own devices ran the risk of making things worse.

Anything with Harry was a risk. But he was a good man, under all the shit. A man worth saving. “ _ What am I going to do with you, detective _ ?”

Harry shivered, looking back at the ceiling and nodding. “Right… focus on being better.” Which meant he had to sleep. And get better. ( _ You’ll make Kim happy again, Harry. He cares. _ ) ( _ He wants someone else. _ ) “Have you ever been in love?”

His friend laughed, not loud or bellowing, but a soft and kind one as he buried his head in Harry’s armpit, seeming unbothered by the sweat that reeked of alcohol. “No, I’ve not. Lucky for me, I think. I’ve seen what it does to people. Why, am I missing out?”

“No,” Harry said, closing his eyes and closing his hand around the sheets, pretending for a moment that he was holding Kim’s hand. How good it would feel to hold him, to have his arms wrapped around his chest, and to kiss him, and to make him proud. To make him blush just around his ears, like he did sometimes.

_ You’re going to dream about Dora tonight, Harry. And you’ll remember the bloated corpse hiding just under the surface, and every single time you ever let her down until she’d had enough of you. Kim will leave you, just like she left you. He’ll find someone else just like she found someone else. _

_ And you’ll be alone. Forever. _

“No, I think I’d give anything to forget I ever loved at all.”

~~

Kim observed Detective du Bois when he came into the office on Monday. Puffy eyes. Inflamed skin. Jittery. Sweaty. He hadn’t done his laundry over the weekend - and hadn’t answered his messages either. All signs pointed towards relapse.

“Fuck,” Jean said, the moment he saw Harry, but Kim held up his hand, shaking his head.

“I will deal with it.”

“Kim, he’s been on a fucking-”

“I know what he’s been on,” Kim said, not snapping, not losing his calm. That was the trick with the lieutenant. Yelling got you nowhere. “I will handle it.”

Jean threw up his hands, walking away and scowling. “Fine, fuck me, I’ve only known the man for over ten years. Not like he could have fucking come to me if there was something wrong or anything…” He kept ranting, vanishing further into the office. “Not like I haven’t had his back all these fucking years.”

Kim let him. That was the key with Jean as well, he found. Letting him rant until he was done, and then he would be fine again. No one wanted to admit that for Harry’s first real attempt at sobriety, three months was fairly considerable. Not many had thought he would last that long.

So, calmly and without drawing any obvious attention to himself, Kim walked to Harry’s desk and leaned against it, taking off his glasses and cleaning them – even though he had a sneaking suspicion he was only about to blur them. “Good morning.”

“Oh,” Harry sat bolt upright in his chair, grabbing a pair of ugly sunglasses and sliding them over his eyes to hide their puffiness. “Hey. Kim. Lieutenant. Morning.”

“Are you alright, detective?” Kim asked, offering Harry a glass of water, which thankfully he took.

“Seen better days,” Harry said, sipping the water and sinking down. “Had a… I had a shitty weekend, Kim. Sorry I walked out on you.”

“Do you need to talk about it?” Kim asked, sort of hoping that the detective did not, because they had a lot of work to do, but also wanting to be… available. Just in case he could stave off whatever breakdown was forthcoming.

For a moment, Harry considered it, but then he shook his head. “Nah. You know how it is. The old love life giving me grief. I’ll get over it.”

Kim wished he would. The ghost of Dora seemed to haunt Harry’s every waking moment, even if he didn’t completely remember her. And if he were to move on from her…

Well. It was a shame that Harry couldn’t move past her. Even if it was an unrealistic and unhealthy hope, Kim still sometimes thought about it anyway. An idle fantasy, best tucked away elsewhere.

“Shall we get to work, then?”

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, my hand slipped.
> 
> Thanks to my beta Airis who I'm slowly getting into this game! Other thanks to my friends who peer pressured me into this game.
> 
> Questions? Comments? Concerns? Wanna talk about my favorite trash fire? Find me on tumblr at http://youredgedadsareshowing.tumblr.com/, or over on Twitter @TheJudgeCoffee.


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